


A Series of Embarrassing Bits

by friendlywitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 05:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12720774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlywitch/pseuds/friendlywitch
Summary: She gives Merrill the ol’ Hot Girl Once-Over, winks, and saunters out of the teacher’s lounge, leaving Merrill wide-eyed and somehow sweatier than before.Her first day isn’t even halfway over, and already she’s been winked at -- twice.





	A Series of Embarrassing Bits

**Author's Note:**

> A modern AU about the faculty and staff of Kirkwall High. Being the new girl is always a bit embarrassing, no matter how old you are.
> 
> Hope you like it! Feel free to leave comments/notes/whatever!

Day 1

An absolute BILLOW of smog and gritty bits in the Kirkwall High faculty lot, and a rust-engulfed clunker sprawls across three parking spots, panting like a suffering animal. Merrill takes a break from hyperventilating in the back seat of her tiny European coupe to take it in; it’s basically a four-door boat drowning in its own waters. And then, through the smoke, She emerges, coffee in one hand and cigarette in the other -- wait, _is_ that a cigarette? Merrill watches her swear and grumble her way across the lot, between the bike racks, and through the double doors.

Then, she promptly returns to panicking, because high school will always be high school.

A rap on the window.

“Oh, fuck!” Merrill squeals and she feels her cheeks burning. It’s Hawke. _Oh_ , fuck. She rolls the window down.

“How’s it hangin’, Mary?”

“Fine. Great! I’m sorry for… you know… the swearing. I was just startled.”

“No sweat. The kids love that kind of shit,” Hawke says. Hawke’s six foot frame folds through the window and plucks Merrill’s cold brew out of the cup holder, takes a long swig. “I’m devastatingly hungover.”

Hawke wiggles her eyebrows, expands to an upright position, and glides inside. Merrill sighs. Her first day hasn’t even started yet, and already the principal’s forgotten her name.

\--

Homeroom is, predictably, a nightmare. All of the kids are terrifying, save a boy named Sandal who gives off a distinctly homeschooled vibe, but calls the papier mache tree she’d spent three days erecting in the back corner “enchanting.” She gives him a mini Kit-Kat bar.

First period is worse, somehow, and second is worse still. By third Merrill feels lightheaded; there are only so many ways to explain the concept of HTML before one’s mind turns to mush.

Merrill’s lunch period is a welcomed relief, until she realizes that, oh yeah, adults can be terrifying too. This is especially apparent when she collides with a stack of craft supplies and the woman carrying them does that _sigh_ that every put-upon mean girl emits at least once in their lifetime.

Merrill dives to the floor to gather the fallen miscellany, feeling sweaty and awkward and devastatingly _there_.

“Don’t bother, kitten.”

And it’s her, from the parking lot, with her gaudy jewelry and barely-hidden tattoos and irreparably smudged eyeliner.

“S-sorry.”

She gives Merrill the ol’ Hot Girl Once-Over and smirks. “I’m not.” She winks, scoops up her things in one fluid motion, and saunters out of the teacher’s lounge, leaving Merrill wide-eyed and somehow sweatier than before.

Her first day isn’t even halfway over, and already she’s been winked at _twice_.

\--

Day 33

Isabela heads up an improv class twice a week, which consists mostly of helicopter parents waiting for their much cooler kids to get out of soccer practice. Merrill gets used to writing lesson plans in the auditorium after school, always sitting a few rows back from Isabela as she takes swigs from her seemingly bottomless thermos. Something about the class makes her feel at peace; she finds herself transfixed watching the improv’ers pass around an invisible ball -- which, come to think of it, is all they really do. She’s also not entirely sure why _The Pirates of Penzance_ soundtrack is usually playing on repeat.

Occasionally the sulking, no-bullshit biology head stalks down the aisle and _encourages_ Isabela to turn the music down.

“I wasn’t always a fan of this show myself,” she purrs, “but your distaste for it makes me absolutely--”

“Torrential. I know.” And he stalks away with the slightest smirk peeking out beneath his flurry of silver hair.

Merrill looks over the stage and thinks just that. Torrential. A chaotic collection of miming divorcees.

“Isabela!”

Isabela tears her eyes from her laptop screen. “Hawke!”

And then she’s there, draped across the row between them, power suit crisp and fingers snapping to the beat.

“Drinks tonight?”

“If you’re paying.” Isabela takes another swig. “I’m playing.”

They break into giggles. Merrill feels a tickle in her throat, which could not have come at a less opportune moment. She coughs as quietly as humanly possible.

Hawke and Isabela look in her direction anyway, and Merrill turns the teensy “ahem” into a full-blown fit. Maybe _that_ will make her seem less desperate.

After a sip of Isabela’s coffee that in fact is not 100% coffee, Merrill’s cough subsides. She begins to excuse herself--

“You, uh… wanna join?”

Hawke and Isabela exchange a Look, which can only mean one thing:  Join and die, nerd. Merrill is all too familiar with this look.

“Thank you, no. I mean, no, thank you. I think I’m coming down with something.”

She gathers her things lightning quick and tears towards the double doors.

“People actually pay you for this, Isabela? I don’t see much teaching going on.”

“I’m letting them find their characters.” She glances at the stage. “Hey, you three! Stop making out!”

\--

Day 73

“Come on, Daisy, take your turn.”

VP Tethras pretends to fall asleep while Merrill lines up her shot.

“I want to win the wolf.”

“Listen, I’ll _buy_ you a stuffed animal if you miss. I’ll take you to Build-A-Wolf myself. Throw. The damn. Ball.”

It’s the big KHS carnival. And Merrill would do anything to sink the VP with a devastating hit. She bites her lip, narrows her eyes, and--

“Don’t miss, kitten.”

… and the tennis ball slips out of her hand and hits a passing jock in the face.

“Walk it off, Brennan!” Coach Vallen bellows before Merrill gets the chance to apologize. The kid scowls and walks it off.

“Quite the aim there.”

“I’m. Not terribly athletic.”

“Oh, well. Hand-eye coordination isn’t the end-all. It’s _flexibility_ I’m after.”

Merrill’s grateful she doesn’t have any more tennis balls in her hands, because they’d be bopping heads left and right.

“Why the red face?”

Hawke pulls up with a mouth half-full of churros. “Isabela, have you said something work-inappropriate?”

“Who, me? I’m the very picture of professionalism.”

Hawke rolls her eyes and stealthily removes a joint from her pocket.

“Look what I confiscated,” she sings.

Isabela’s eyes light up. “Leave it to you to turn a carnival into a real _party_ .” She surveys the gym. “But how’ll we sneak out? You can’t exactly leave _Aveline_ in charge. She’ll have everyone doing jumping jacks before the evening’s up.”

“Mmmm.” Hawke grumbles, considering her options. Merrill avoids her eyes, not nearly ready to take charge of _anyone_ , much less _Aveline_.

“Hold my churro, will you?” And in one fluid motion, Hawke bends over, grabs an errant tennis ball, and violently chucks it at the VP’s tank. Her aim is perfect; the ball hits the button square on its head, and Varric dead-drops into the water. When he resurfaces, sputtering, Hawke is receiving applause. She abruptly raises a finger to the tank. “You’re in charge now.” And she turns on her heel and starts towards the doors. Isabela chuckles and follows suit, all while Merrill gapes.

“Coming, kitten?”

And so, shyness be damned, Merrill trips after them, leaving a trail of churro dust in her wake.

\--

Day 74

Merrill wakes up with a killer hangover, which makes sense because she never was much of a smoker, or a drinker, or a dancer on tables -- all avenues she’d forayed into last night. First, they smoked in the auditorium. Then, they walked over to some bar that was awfully noisy. And then, Isabela taught her how to do body shots.

It wasn’t too bad, Merrill thinks, except for the embarrassing bits. Merrill can’t necessarily remember any specific embarrassing bits, but she’s bombarded with the feeling that she should be embarrassed, so she is. The whole school probably knows of her escapades by now.

Oh, no. _School_.

Merrill’s eyes fly open and there it is. Right in front of her. School. She lurches forward but something pulls her back. A… seatbelt? “Oh, fuck.”

“Shhhhhh.”

Merrill whips around to see Hawke and Isabela splayed across the back seat, Hawke’s suit still impossibly crisp and Isabela’s eyeliner still irreparably smudged.

“What happened last night?” Hawke groans. Merrill learned early in the night that Hawke, though voted Most Likely to Hold Her Liquor, is a spectacular lightweight.

“We went to the Hanged Man. You got sloshed. Merrill got wild. I think I got another tattoo?.. And then we didn’t want to go home so we walked back to my car and Kitten started yelling.”

“Me?”

“No, the other Kitten. Of course you.”

“I think I remember that,” Hawke giggles. “Something about how she wants to be the captain?”

Ah, yes. There’s the embarrassing bit.

\--

Night 73

Merrill and Isabela and Hawke are gripping each other for dear life as they weave across the parking lot and Isabela jams her key into the driver’s side door. Not the lock. The _door_.

“Did I just key my own car?”

Hawke erupts in giggles. Isabela frowns.

“She’s trash now, anyway. I started working when I was 13, you know that? All so I could save up for this beauty someday. And then she goes and dies on me.”

Merrill gets an overwhelming sensation of anguish as Isabela pathetically tries to unlock the car.

“Listen! Listen listen!” Hawke and Isabela listen. “She is spectacular! And she is majestic! Just like you!”

“Just like me?” Hawke slurs.

“Well… yes. Both of you. And the car.” Merrill’s eyes well up with tears, for some reason.

“And I suppose you want to ride both of us, and the car, don’t you kitten?” Isabela’s eyes are twinkling, likely half because of her salacious joke and half because of the rum.

“Yes!” Merrill exclaims, entirely serious. Hawke’s eyes widen and Isabela stifles a laugh. And Merrill, who has apparently lost all inhibition, shouts, “Yes, and I’d like to drive!” Merrill is only sort of talking about the car.

“Not like this you don’t,” Isabela chuckles, but hands Merrill the keys anyway.

Merrill slides into the driver’s seat and slyly motions Hawke and Isabela to the back. “I’m the captain!”

“You make a _fantastic_ captain, kitten.”

“All aboard the SS Merrill!” Hawke giggles.

And then they all promptly fall asleep.

\--

Day 74

Merrill is mortified. Maybe she can pretend like she wasn’t flirting. Like all that captain stuff was a big goof. She was kidding. It didn’t even make any sense, not really. Incomprehensible. The part where she said stupidly said “yes” to Isabela’s dirty joke? The only truly damning evidence against her, and maybe they don’t even remember it.

Merrill sneaks a peek in the rearview. The twinkle in Isabela’s eye means she remembers it. And Hawke is giggling to herself. Oh, what a _nightmare_.

She unclips her seatbelt and tumbles out of the car. “I’ve gotta go… vomit.” And she speed-walks into the school, nearly colliding with the VP on her way in.

“You okay, Daisy?”

\--

Days 74-101

Merrill has been incredibly successful in matters of avoidance since the incident. She was right; high school really _is_ always high school, no matter how old you are. Here she was, nursing a crush, and on the popular girls no less! And here she was, humiliating herself like always. And just when they’d started to become friends. Luckily, Hawke and Isabela have been tight-lipped so far, no gossip to further her descent into Mortification Station.

She’s stopped writing lesson plans in the auditorium. In fact, she avoids that wing all together. And the teacher’s lounge. And the front office. And any other place where one of them might get her alone. It’s grueling work, but Merrill will do nearly anything to avoid teasing.

It’s especially tough when she catches Isabela calling after her across the parking lot, or when Hawke pops into her classroom between periods. So Merrill trains herself in the art of the getaway and takes to drinking absurd amounts of coffee so that she’s always in need of a bathroom break. You know, anything to avoid teasing.

But as much as she likes her other coworkers, it isn’t quite the same.

\--

Day 102

After another exhausting day, Merrill is all too close to the end of her rope. In fact, she’s just hanging by a thread now. She finishes her daily deep breathing ritual and turns her key in the ignition. She sighs, takes a swig of coffee, and lets off the break--

_Beeeeeeep!_

Merrill breaks again and her coffee flies onto the passenger’s seat. She checks the mirror.

It’s Isabela’s beast, or something like it, with a crisp paint job and an exhaust pipe that somehow _isn’t_ choking out blackish sludge. Good for her, Merrill thinks before she can stop herself. Those improv classes finally paid off.

Merrill waits for the car to get out of her way, and when it doesn’t, she lays on her own horn. Go, Merrill!

She hears a muffled scoff and Isabela honks again, apparently doubling down on the refusal to move.

“Really, now?” Merrill grumbles. She returns Isabela's beep in kind.

This goes on for the next several minutes, neither of them willing to let up or get out of their respective vehicles. A small crowd has gathered outside the entrance, watching the display.

Hawke barrels through the double doors, hands on the hips of her suit, and for once, she isn’t giggling.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” she bellows, sounding like the disciplinarian Aveline’s always wanted.

Merrill rolls her window down. “She won’t move!”

Hawke swivels towards Isabela.

“Isabela, why won’t you move?!”

Isabela rolls her own window down. “She’s been avoiding us for _weeks_!”

“Hmm.” Hawke swivels towards Merrill. “She makes a good point. Why have you been avoiding us?”

Merrill gapes. “I--I haven’t!”

“Liar!” Isabela calls from behind them.

“Liar,” Hawke says simply.

“Well… You _know_!”

“We do not!” Isabela shouts.

“We do not,” Hawke assures her.

Merrill scowls at them in disbelief, her eyes going from Hawke on her left to Isabela in her rearview. She expects _their_ eyes to glint with a secret joke at Merrill’s expense, but all she sees is genuine concern. “You… do not.”

Merrill turns off her car and stares straight ahead. “I was… embarrassed. I said something stupid. I assumed… Well, I assumed we weren’t really friends, I suppose.”

“What did she say?!”

Hawke sighs. “Will you just come over here?”

“Fine.”

\--

A half hour later the three of them are stuffed into Merrill’s tiny car, Isabela in the passenger’s seat pruning in the coffee spill and Hawke spread awkwardly across the back. They are giggling.

“Being the new girl is the tits,” Isabela laughs. “During my first year I engaged in a _very_ ill-conceived threesome. Everyone knew about it. But then Hawke came along and shut down all the rumors. Since then, of course, I’ve realized that what makes us embarrassed can also make us legendary.”

Isabela winks. Merrill blushes. Hawke giggles.

“Isabela, show Merrill the tattoo you got in the backroom at the Hanged Man that night. It _is_ pretty legendary.”

Isabela lets out a nervous laugh and lifts up her blouse to reveal her ribcage -- or, more accurately, its new decoration:  a heart engraved with the letters I + M + H. Merrill balks.

“It’s… spectacular.”

“Yeah, I had to make well sure they didn’t do H + I + M. That’d be pretty misleading.”

Merrill and Hawke deliver a collective nod.

“Want to get a drink?” Merrill offers.

“Absolutely,” Hawke and Isabela say at once. They struggle to fasten their seat belts in the cramped space.

“Why don’t be take my car?”

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good.”

They pile out of Merrill’s ride and into Isabela’s.

“I’m thinking about getting another tattoo while we’re there,” Isabela says as she turns her key in the ignition. The engine lets out a gentle purr.

“Oh, yeah? What of?”

“ _What_ ? More like _where_?” Hawke asks with a wink.

“It’ll be tasteful. Right across my ass. And it’ll say _Property of Captain Merrill_.”

The car erupts into giggles, and so begins an evening of embarrassing bits.


End file.
